


Metaphysical

by Pagalini



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: F/F, Genderswap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-10
Updated: 2013-07-10
Packaged: 2017-12-18 09:20:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/878208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pagalini/pseuds/Pagalini
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scarring can be puckered skin and silvered tracks of flesh, charred hair stubs and the ugly black-yellow of a deep bruise. That’s what people tend to think. A scar – that’s physical, right?<br/>No. No, it’s not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Metaphysical

**Author's Note:**

> I started this a while ago, as a Valentine present for my girlfriend. Sorry it's taken so long to finish, sweetheart! :3
> 
> My Tumblr is pagalini.tumblr.com, for those interested parties!

 Scarring can be puckered skin and silvered tracks of flesh, charred hair stubs and the ugly black-yellow of a deep bruise. That’s what people tend to think. A scar – that’s physical, right?

            No. No, it’s not.

* * *

People don’t talk about it, and Bree supposes that’s what money does. It hushes and hides, conceals and lies. Still, she doesn’t get how people can just talk around it as if it never happened. Let’s play pretend, business executive style.

            Howard Stark was a monster, but he’s remembered as a god. Bree can sympathise. It’s hard to give people the truth when you’re the only one left who can do it. You get caught up in it, the words sticky and sick in your mouth, and in the end you just stop, swallow them.

            She doesn’t talk about Brian Banner, and Toni doesn’t talk about Howard.

* * *

That first day, after shawarma, Toni gets back into the car with Bree and takes her to the foot of Stark Tower. Above them something sparks white against the rich blue of the sky, and glass blankets the pavement in a constellation of jagged stars. 

            The foyer is empty, the entrance a yawning zigzag of police tape that Toni ducks beneath without the slightest break in her stride. Bree follows her, wringing her hands together. She reflexively goes to push her glasses up her nose and finds nothing but bare skin. She flinches.

  “I’ll get you another pair,” says Toni. Bree blinks, sees Toni stood dead still in front of her, eyelids dipped and mouth a serious crease. “Dime a dozen, those things. Sure we can do something better, even. Maybe opticianry can be our next big shebang. After, you know, we sort out the energy plans. Those are kind of important.”

  “Uh, I can just get them myself—”

  “Nah, eye for an eye and all that shit,” says Toni. “You caught my ass, yeah? I owe you.”

  “You owe the other girl, you mean.”

  “No,” says Toni. “I owe you.”

* * *

It’s fragile, whatever it is that lies between them, and Bree doesn’t understand it at all. That night she sleeps in one of the Tower’s many spare rooms and the next morning they eat breakfast together up on the platform where Toni’s ‘stripper’ bots are concealed.

            Bree is wearing slippers that she woke to find at the foot of her bed. They’re white and plain except for a Stark Industries logo. It feels oddly appropriate.

            Toni is barefoot, sat right on the edge with her legs kicking out into empty air. She’s clutching a mug against her chest and has a dressing gown bunched up around her elbows. The arc reactor is a steady pulse of light in the centre of her chest. They don’t talk. They don’t need to.

            They’ve known each other for one day.

* * *

The thing is, Toni is an asshole and Pepper – isn’t. She’s smart. She wants out.

            She wants out, and Toni – she doesn’t stop her. She cares too much to stop her, can’t keep putting her through the stress of watching her cheat death again and again and again. Bree wants to speak out, something mean about running from homophobia, but she knows that’s not Pepper’s reason. Any other person and it might well have been, but Pepper is a good soul. When she walks out she doesn’t look back, but her hands are trembling.

            Bree has been staying at the Tower for over a month by this point, has kind of unofficially moved in and struck up a truce with Dummy that means the bot has stopped acting like a brat whenever she’s in the workshop (he was jealous of Bree, though God only knows why). She has the misfortune of being in the kitchen when Toni and Pepper have the Big Fight in the corridor right outside. She hears everything, and when Toni comes in a few minutes after the shouting has pitched into a hideous silence Bree spins her plate of pancakes around and pushes them in Toni’s direction.

            Toni’s hands quake as she eats. Bree doesn’t mention it, can see the gratitude in the quick look Tony flashes her when she’s finished. Toni’s eyes are large and dark, and for a brief moment Bree feels a little flutter in her belly.

She quashes it down. _Bad idea, Bree._

* * *

            In her mind’s eye she sees the blinding light of the gamma bomb, the face of the kid she saved staring up at her in horror. It chases her from sleep, down to the workshop. Most nights, Toni joins her.

* * *

            It doesn’t fall apart, is the thing. All of them end up in the Tower one way or another, each with a floor designed specifically for their needs. Bree sees Steph’s confusion upon entering a floor half-thirties half-modern; clunky old-fashioned lines smoothing gracefully into the straight-edged silver and glass that the modern world prefers.

            That’s the thing. Steph doesn’t quite get it yet, but Toni _does_ care. She isn’t the shallow, superficial socialite that gets smeared across the papers. It’s in what she makes – the unrequested additions to Claire’s armour, the new gun for Natasha, upgrades for Steph’s bike and utility belt – and countless other little things besides. It’s the way she’ll install a luxurious Jacuzzi bath in Bree’s en suite despite the way her hands quiver the few times she gets caught outside in the rain without an umbrella or the suit, the way she just _stopped_ for a moment when Claire splashed her with dishwater.  

            Bree, however, does get it. She gets that Toni cares. She’s grateful. She just wishes that the caring could involve more than friendship.

            But Toni just broke up with Pepper, and while Bree is a monster she’s not that kind. It’s just a shame that she swears it’s not just her – that sometimes when they look at each other she feels like Toni’s looking back at her, _really_ looking.

            They circle.

* * *

It takes Bree months to realise that the circling is a two-part dance with a fizzle of _something_ as the pivot point.

            It comes to a head when Bree goes down to the kitchen one night at 2AM with the vague notion of getting some snacks to power her through until morning. It’s been a rough night and she’s given up on sleep. Her feet stick to the kitchen floor when she enters, and she frowns when she sees the empty Pop tart boxes hidden haphazardly behind the bread bin. The stickiness is probably Thor’s fault, in that case. Bree rolls her eyes and –

            She stops dead. She’s not alone in the room. Sitting at the island is Toni, feet dangling off the floor and upper body slumped across the work surface. She’s wearing a bright red silk dressing gown, and her cheek is supported by one flattened arm. Her other arm dangles by her side, fingers half-curled.

            Before Bree can even think about what she’s doing she’s by Toni’s side, one hand coming up to cup the mess of her hair. Toni stirs under her touch and blinks awake. Her eyes are dark and sleep-dazed, and Bree feels something clench inside.

            The lights are off, and everything is a slotted-together collage of shadow. A flicker of white twists in the mussed coil of Toni’s hair, and Bree’s eyes are drawn to it. She tucks it down, lets her hand stay there. It’s cool, not like skin, but it’s Toni and this is the closest Bree trusts herself to come.

            She stands like that until Toni’s head goes back down, her cheek squashing against her own folded arms, and watches over her as she falls asleep. Then, because it’s Toni, and the Other Girl might be strong but Bree was always an academic and she knows she has no chance of carrying Toni up to bed without causing something awkward, she takes off her own nightgown and drapes it around Toni’s shoulders.

            Bree kisses Toni’s hair, just once, heart tight and her touch nervous, and then she ducks back out into the corridor.

            Claire is standing there, nearly lost in the dark, her expression placid but her eyes sharp. Bree is intimidated by Claire, tries not to be, but it’s hard against someone who survived a life of horror to walk out with some semblance of sanity. Claire is a war survivor, and it shows in the bite of her words, her wariness, the way she can shoot a bow blindfolded but doesn’t know how to hug. Claire is wary of the Other Girl, but it’s similar to Toni. She goads her and pokes, and Bree – that scares her.

  “Morning,” says Claire, and she lifts a hand to ruffle at her untidy mop of hair. Bree sees a wink of silver in her hand when she does, and realises that Claire is holding a knife. She’s wearing pyjama shorts and a tank top with an owl pattern, but her guard is never down. Bree must have startled her.

  “Uh,” says Bree.

  “You should just kiss her, and get it over with.”

  “Um.”

  “Look, I’m way too tired for human company right now, but even I can see you’re fucking this up.”

  “Thanks,” says Bree. Hurt prickles her, and she swallows. “Yeah. I know.”

  “No,” says Claire. “Hey, Banner. You’re meant to be the smart one here, aren’t you? Just kiss her, dumbass.”

  “Stop – stop messing with me—”

  “I’m not. Just do it before I have to slap you both and tie you together in a cupboard.”

            There’s honesty in Claire’s face, and Bree relaxes a little. “I…why are you so invested?”

  “I still love her,” says Claire. “Tasha, I mean. We…just because it didn’t work out for me don’t mean it’ll be the same for you. I’m not gonna sit on my ass and watch you miss this.”

  “She’s asleep,” says Bree.

  “Aw, man, Banner. Steph’ll have your ass handed to you if she finds Toni asleep at the kitchen table again.”

  “So what do I do?”

  “ _We_ are gonna get her pretty little ass up to bed, and then you’re going to get your act together. If it don’t work out, well, I know where she keeps the booze and I’m free tonight. So.”

  “Oh, uh, okay.”

  “Okay what?”

  “Let’s do it.”

            Claire is smaller than Bree, compact and stocky and so, so tough. It’s strange to see her lift Toni so gently she doesn’t wake, tip her so that Toni’s head tucks into the crook of her neck. Bree makes as if to help, but Claire shakes her head and steps around her, leading the way.

            There’s a softness to Claire as she carries Toni up the corridor to the elevator that Bree has never seen before. Well, never would be a lie, but it’s not often that the shutters come down and the child that Claire had once been is allowed to stare out.

            Toni’s floor is vast and modern and empty. The crumpled blankets on the bed are the only trace of her life here. No pictures, no bits of electrics, no dirt. Just – a twisted blanket and a fire engine red pantsuit hanging from the door handle of the en suite, and that’s it. Bree’s seen the workshop. She knows the marks Toni leaves on the places she loves, and this is an unloved place. It has a bed, though, so it’ll have to do.

            Claire carries Toni over to the bed and tips her onto it, tangled up in the two dressing gowns she’s wearing, one red and the other purple. Claire pauses, something akin to a fond look passing over her face before it’s locked down again. She turns, winks at Bree, and leaves. Her footsteps are soundless.

            Biting her lip, Bree carefully sits on the very edge of the bed. Her heart is thrumming inside her ribcage and she takes a deep breath to calm herself, casting her eyes around the room. Toni’s floor is open plan, with a wide archway inviting the eye towards the king-sized bed. For all the lovely simplicity of it, Bree doesn’t like the emptiness. Her own quarters are more lived in, and only after some serious heckling from the others.

            She looks back towards the arch and blinks. There, preserved inside a simple frame, is the only picture Bree has seen in the entire apartment. It’s a photo of the five of them having shawarma, blurry and blown-up, clearly paparazzi, but – Toni’s smiling, and Claire looks fed up, and Steph is bemused, and Thor is grinning ear to ear, and Bree…

            Bree is looking at Toni, and her expression is soft. The grainy pixels are a blink of an eye; a snapshot of something she didn’t know she was still capable of.

  “That one’s my favourite.”

            Bree is proud that she doesn’t startle. “Oh, uh, I—”

  “You thought I was asleep, huh?”

  “Maybe?”

            Toni is rumpled and way too smug, leaning up against Bree’s shoulder, warm through her clothes. “Hey, Bree.”

  “Hey, Toni.”

  “Somethin’ you wanna ask me?”

            Her arc reactor glows near white in the dark, and there’s the gamma bomb, glaring through the memories. Bree holds Toni’s gaze and doesn’t flinch back from it, doesn’t run. She doesn’t want to run. This – this is something she’s going to stand her ground for. Paparazzi photos that show a part of her she’d thought wrung out by her childhood, a bizarre parody of family, workshop late nights and a surrogate robot arm-child.

            Bree swallows, and, gently, leans her head on Toni’s. Her chest feels tight but it’s not constricted, just brimming over with the beginnings of what might just be hope.

  “You’ve not said anything yet, Doc.”

  “I don’t think I need to, at this point.”

  “…No.”

            They fall asleep together, curled into a closing quotation mark.

 

 


End file.
